


nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

by MissELY



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief mentions of canon-typical violence, Dirty Talk, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, TasteofSmut 2020, hearing, mentions of child abuse, mentions of domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25298239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissELY/pseuds/MissELY
Summary: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger have a series of unpleasant, confusing, and electric encounters during the Death Eater trials after the war."And once again, for better or for worse, the sound of that voice is enough to fell her."
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 17
Kudos: 326
Collections: Good Girl Hermione, Taste of Smut Fest





	nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt # & Claim Type: Prompt #45 for Fic
> 
> Prompt: And once again, for better or for worse, the sound of that voice is enough to fell me.
> 
> Senses: Hearing
> 
> Pairing: Draco/Hermione
> 
> Special Requests: Love love to see this as a Hogwarts 8th year fic, or something during the trials of Death Eaters, post-war.
> 
> Title from the lyrics of "Disloyal Order Of Water Buffaloes" by Fall Out Boy
> 
> Squicks & Triggers: torture
> 
> Max Rating: E

Hermione hadn’t really wanted to be at the trials.

She had protested to Harry, Ron, Minister Shacklebolt, really anyone who would listen. She told them that she didn’t need to be there. That there were other people, ones who had lost loved ones, who had been tortured, who hadn’t spent the majority of the War camping in a tent in the English countryside away from most of the danger. They should have the seat in the crowded gallery, not her.

No one had listened.

Being a public figure, Hermione was finding, left one stripped of many choices.

And of quite a bit of privacy.

She had almost gotten used to the flashbulbs that seemed to go off in her face once a minute while she was in public. It made sense on some level. She was a novelty.

After the Battle of Hogwarts she had licked her wounds in private, preferring to go to Australia to find her parents than to stick around and count bodies.

It made her a coward; she supposed.

It had taken her out of the public eye though. She let Harry and Ron grace the cover of Witch Weekly, and The Prophet, and even The Quibbler. She had just wanted to find her parents, spend time there, and then hopefully return to a quiet life.

But her trip to Australia had been brief.

It turns out that stripping your parents of their memories doesn’t endear you to them. The opposite, in fact.

So a week after she left the UK, and six weeks before her anticipated return, Hermione had come home.

She hadn't particularly wanted to, but really there was nowhere else.

She did not however, tell anyone. Instead, she spent the time holed up in her parent’s nearly empty house, spending time in the Muggle world, trying to ignore the increasingly annoyed owls from almost everyone she knew.

It hadn’t been a very peaceful six weeks.

The day she was supposed to have arrived back in the UK, Harry had shown up on her doorstep.

She didn’t let him in, instead she had stepped outside, closing the door quickly behind her. She hadn’t wanted him to see the unfurnished living room, didn’t want to remind him of what she had done to her parents. She didn’t want him to feel guilty.

“Hermione, the trials are going on. You need to come to them.” His eyes were wide and earnest. She thought maybe he looked a little different from he had the last time she had seen him, but really she couldn’t tell.

“Harry, I really would prefer not to.” She turned her head slightly, so she wasn’t looking at him and instead was looking out to the street.

“Hermione, please, for me? I need you to be there.” His tone was pleading. 

She sighed internally and gave a jerky nod of assent. For Harry. Of course.

That’s how she ended up in this corridor in the Ministry, dressed in clothes she had picked up for cheap at a secondhand store. She had hoped they were formal enough to watch a few of the seemingly endless trials of Death Eaters and their associates.

It turns out that when your country goes through a coup, a civil war, and a genocide, not a lot of places are hiring drop outs.

Her unemployment did leave her a lot of time to attend these trials, which, truth be told, she had little interest in.

This was her first one. She hadn’t been prepared for what they were like.

Hermione hoped she hadn’t made a scene when she stood and left the room, but she probably had.

She shut her eyes and focused on the cool stone at her back. The trial of Walden McNair was currently underway, so she was almost totally alone in the hallway. Apparently he had done atrocious things during the war, and everyone and their mother had come to hear all the gory details.

Hermione had left the courtroom once they had brought out the pictures.

She pressed her palms into her eyes, trying to force out the images.

Footsteps echoed down the deserted hallway, a sharp steady pace which slowed as they grew close.

She kept her eyes closed. Maybe if she didn’t acknowledge whoever it was, they would move on and leave her alone.

“Granger.” His sharp voice cut through her prayers for solitude. She recognized the speaker immediately. He still sounded aristocratic, but his voice was different. She couldn’t put her finger on what though.

She moved her hands away from her eyes but didn’t open them. If she kept her eyes closed he wouldn’t be there, and she could keep this moment of peace she had scavenged.

“Malfoy.” Her voice was flat, as unwelcoming as she could make it.

“Are you waiting to testify? I would have thought that war heroine you are, they would have provided a private waiting room. Something with its own house elf. Maybe a suite?” There was something that resembled his old bite, but it wasn’t quite there. He was speaking too fast.

Hermione sucked in a breath and tried to see how long she could hold it for.

After 10 seconds his foot began tapping impatiently on the hard marble floor.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap._

The steady rhythm helped her count.

She got to thirty seconds before she had to let out a noisy exhale. It took her a second to remember his question.

“No.”

This was where she was supposed to make small talk, but she really didn’t have the energy.

“Well then, why are you out here?” His tone turned bitter and accusatory, all hard vowels that rat-a-tatted out like a machine gun, too loud in the near silence. She kept her eyes shut. “Hoping to catch someone to interview you? Is that your job now? I heard you were out of the country. Come back to collect on the publicity, have you? Merlin knows Weasel has gotten enough of it for the lot of you.”

She did her best to sink into the stone wall at her back as she shook her head slowly, her skull rolling against the wall she was pressed into. The uneven angles of the stone pressed into her head. It hurt, but only a little.

Hermione wove a hand through her hair, gripping hard. It was greasy and more tangled than usual. She spoke softly, a deliberate contrast to his louder voice. “Couldn’t be in there.”

She heard him take half a step closer.

“Why? Were they not sufficiently obsequious to the rights of thestrals or some tosh? Did someone offend your delicate sensibilities?” The sneer came across clearly in his voice even though she couldn't see his face.

“Pictures.” Maybe if she just kept giving one-word answers, he would go away.

Malfoy was quiet for a minute, but she could tell he hadn't left yet. His breathing was almost noisy in the quiet of the corridor, and his scent—cloves and parchment, and surprisingly cigarettes—was thick in the air.

He made an indistinct noise in the back of his throat, like he had swallowed the words he wanted to say. His sharp exhale through his nose sounded frustrated. It made her lips twitch. She still didn’t look at him.

“I have to testify.” Maloy’s voice was quieter this time, lacking the malice it had earlier. The fabric of his robes rustled, and she felt him settle next to her against the wall. Not touching, but close enough for her to feel heat radiating from his body. Had he gotten taller since she last saw him? It seemed like it. But the last time she had seen him, there hadn’t really been the opportunity to measure him, the heat of battle isn’t the appropriate venue for the “oh, you’ve grown up so much, let me pinch your cheeks” conversation.

She was silent, and she abruptly wondered if he had expected her to ask about his testimony. She didn’t.

“He—McNair was—he was one of the worst. He took those pictures himself.” Hermione flinched, but she wasn’t sure if Malfoy noticed. “He considered it his hobby. The Dark Lord thought it was funny. He would make McNair take them out and pass them around at gatherings. There was this one time—”

Hermione couldn’t listen to this. “Don’t”

“Okay.” His answer was more air than words, soft across the skin of her cheek. He must have turned to have her.

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement. She wondered if he looked chagrined. Maybe not. Maybe he had deliberately been trying to make her uncomfortable. Try to get her to leave.

She should have stayed in Australia. Even if her parents hadn’t wanted her around, at least there had been beaches there.

The silence lingered. She stayed put. Kept her eyes closed and her arms tucked behind her body, palms flat against the stone wall. She wouldn’t be the one to retreat. She had been here first. He had no right to try to make her leave when he had been the one who had intruded on her solitude, and what was more—

“This is the fifth trial I’ve testified at. Even though it took them a couple months to get this all up and running, the Wizengamot has been doing these at a breakneck speed now. I expect they’ll be going until this time next year. But who knows, maybe the money will start to do its job, and those only accused of conspiracy and accessory will be quietly moved off of the docket.”

Something bitter settled at the back of her throat. It tasted too much like fear for comfort.

She broke her streak of one-word answers, clenching her eyes even more tightly shut.

“Is that what you’re hoping for? That many people will get off?” Her lips pressed together and twisted into a grimace.

Of course that’s what he was hoping for. If those who had only helped, who had only collected names, who had only cleaned the cages, if they faced no consequences, then the things that he had done would probably be forgiven as well, despite the Mark she knew stained his arm.

He laughed, something hollow that seemed to have an echo of its own.

“No. That’s not—no.”

Her lips relaxed, and she opened her mouth, taking a deep steadying breath. She relaxed her face, still keeping her eyes shut, but gently now. Maybe she should take up smoking. It was supposed to be relaxing. Did nicotine have the same effect on magicals it did on Muggles?

“I don’t expect you to know this Granger, but I hated them as much as you did.”

Her eyebrows raised, and she scoffed.

“I did!” He sounded defensive, his voice going higher than it had just been a minute ago. Louder too. “You weren’t there, at the school, at those revels, in my home.”

Hermione said nothing. The light from the hallway was staining the insides of her eyelids red.

Malfoy shifted next to her. She wondered if he was glaring at her. She still didn’t look.

“There was nothing about this past year that was pleasant, or even tolerable. Especially in the spring. There was nowhere to escape to. The Carrows ran the school and Snape did nothing to stop them. And home was where he was and my mother—there was—what they did to—”

He was speaking so quickly that she wondered if he even realized everything he was saying. The last time she had heard him this angry, he had been cursing her existence. This was a change in circumstances certainly.

Malfoy stopped talking.

He was panting. His cheeks were probably flushed. Maybe even his hair was out of place if he looked as upset as he sounded.

This interaction was not going as she had thought it would. In all honesty, she hadn’t actually given any thought to what Malfoy would be like post-War.

He had barely been a blip on her radar.

She had been too focused on other things. Her parents. Herself. What she was sure was some variety of PTSD. Then her friends, the rest of the DA and the Order, and then everyone else who had fought against Vol—You-Know-Who.

And how strange it was, that even all these months later, she still couldn’t even bear to think his name. That would be something she would probably have to deal with later.

Malfoy’s breathing had slowed down and was no longer audible. She had nothing to say in response to him. She hadn’t been at Hogwarts, but he hadn’t been in the forest. He had been in his drawing room though, and the spots they had occupied had been very different there.

“Don’t think that there was a moment when I didn’t—” The words were pouring out of him and onto her, like an oil spill on a calm lake. Slick, settling on top of her, weighing her down. It was too much. It was too much, right in this moment.

She didn’t have the energy for whatever this was. She had no absolution to offer him.

“Okay.” Hermione interrupted, pushing her body off of the wall. She realized abruptly she would need to open her eyes to be able to navigate down the hall which would mean she would see him, he would be real, he would be there.

She blinked hard, once, twice against the fluorescent lighting in the hallway. How strange what the magical world picked and chose to use of the Muggle world. Radios, lighting fixtures, elevators, prejudice based on immutable traits, sure. But television, humans rights, phones? Apparently, a step too far.

“Okay.” She repeated. She looked at Malfoy out of the corner of her eye. His hair was out of its usual perfect coif, and there were flags of color flying high on his cheeks. His eyes were overbright and his hands were curled into fists at his side.

His grey eyes met hers. There was an expression of shock that crossed his features.

Hermione shrugged. His surprise was not her problem. This trial as a whole was not her problem. Exhaustion crashed over her in a sudden wave and she knew it was time for her to leave, time for her to curl up in her sparsely furnished room in her parent’s empty house that they were never going to return to because she had—

She forced the air from her lungs in a sharp huff. Standing up straight, she turned fully to face Malfoy.

He still wore that shocked expression. His robes were impeccably pressed, the luxurious fabric falling in soft waves over his imposing form. Though he didn't look that imposing slumped against the wall as he was right then.

Keeping her expression blank she turned on her heel and left.

The trials could wait.

* * *

The trials couldn’t wait, apparently.

At least, if Harry was to be believed. It was evidently essential that she attend every minute of every one of them.

“Hermione,” Harry had said, standing on her front step again. She held the front door only open just enough so he could see her, but not see in. There was still no furniture on the first floor of the home.

“Hermione, you have to come. It’s—I know we weren’t there, but we have to.” His voice had that tone. The _we have to get the Stone before Snape does_ tone. The _we need to save Sirius_ tone. The tone that meant she would have another near death experience by the end of the day.

Hermione wanted to ask why they had to do anything. Hadn’t they done enough?

But how could she ask Harry that? Harry, who had given up so much, who had given his life. And he had been looking at her, so honest and earnest. Eyes wide and brow creased. If he wanted this, then she could give this to him, would give this to him.

He had looked at her like she should say something. She had been silent for too long again.

So she had swallowed her words and nodded, giving him a brittle smile that she hoped would placate him. It seemingly had worked, because Harry had given her a pained smile that she interpreted as encouraging, and had apparated away.

The next morning she pulled on her hand-me-down robes again and made her way to the visitor entrance to the Ministry.

Today’s trial was Dolores Umbridge.

There was some part of her, buried under layers of apathy, that was gleeful. A small smile tucked into the corners of her mouth as she settled into a place towards the back of the gallery.

She selected a seat away from where Harry sat. He was towards the middle, holding Ginny’s hand. And away from where Ron sat, upfront by all the cameras.

Umbridge, despite the fact that she was un-Marked, had been deemed to have committed enough atrocities to merit a trial on the front end of this process. Before some members of the inner circle, even, which had been a surprise.

The older witch presiding over the proceedings—who Hermione was sure she should have recognized, but didn’t—banged a gavel, calling the trial to order. Dolores Umbridge was brought into the chambers in shackles, looking much less smug than the last time Hermione had seen her.

The prosecution began calling witnesses, and Hermione couldn’t help but zone out.

Perhaps this process was meant to be boring, Hermione thought as she followed the movement of the prosecutor as he paced back and forth in the well in front of the full Wizengamot. Perhaps the justice system was meant to placate and put on a show, rather than actually achieve any real sort of justice.

Umbridge had sent hundreds to Azkaban, where a startling number had died or been driven insane. St. Mungo’s had been forced to build a new wing.

A wizard Hermione didn’t recognize was called to the stand.

What would justice look like for Umbridge? Was this supposed to be retribution? If it was, then she should be driven mad, perhaps to death, like her victims were.

But that wouldn’t happen.

The Dementors had fled Azkaban; the prison was now staffed by wizards and witches. There was talk about humane conditions being implemented.

How strange that those who had wanted the prison to be a place of pure misery would benefit from the mercy of others.

A witch in an eye-smarting shade of yellow took the stand and immediately began sobbing. Loud, heaving sobs.

Hermione winced.

The sound echoed in the chamber, making it seem like more people were crying. That the entire audience was wailing along with this woman.

Hermione’s fingers curled around the edge of her chair. She resisted the urge to bolt.

After a minute the woman on the stand quieted down. Hermione forced her hands to uncurl from where they dug into her seat.

She flexed her fingers. They were sore from the force she had used to hold herself in place.

The woman was still crying through her testimony. Hermione lost track of what she was saying.

Was the point of this supposed to be rehabilitation? Was Umbridge supposed to come out and show that she now loved Muggleborns, that she regretted all of her actions? That wouldn’t bring anyone back, and she had lied her entire life, so it seemed unlikely she would stop then.

A few minutes or maybe an hour or more later, the woman stepped off of the witness stand.

Maybe the goal was supposed to be restraint, that Umbridge was supposed to be sent to prison to prevent her from committing similar atrocities ever again. But that also felt wrong. She didn’t need to be sent to prison to accomplish that. All that had to happen was that she needed to be kept out of positions of power.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy” the bailiff's voice startled Hermione. She sat up, back going ramrod straight.

The door to the courtroom banged open, rattling the windows in the solid wood of the door.

Malfoy walked down the center aisle that divided the gallery. His heavy tread broke the silence that the announcement of his name had caused.

She followed him with her eyes, drinking him in.

She had been right; he was taller than she remembered. He also had filled out. He no longer looked pinched, and his pointiness, while still present, had gone from unpleasant to distinguished and distinctive.

He looked like his father; she realized with a start. He always had a little, but his hair was slightly longer, and he had that same air that she had seen in Lucius Malfoy back in Flourish and Blotts before Second Year. Like it was his world and everyone else was just living in it on borrowed time.

Malfoy was sworn in, downed the required Veritaserum, and took a seat on the witness stand.

There was a dull buzzing in her ears, which made it hard for her to pay attention to what he was saying. But by Umbridge’s unpleasant scowl, she knew that it was bad for her.

Certain words filtered through her distraction. But his answers were long and drawn out, very through, if the time he went on had anything to do with it.

“Inquisitor’s Squad.”

Malfoy’s robes this time were dark navy. He looked good in them, though she would never tell him that.

“Forced us to report on our classmates.”

He was gripping the arms of the chair so tight his knuckles were going white. She wondered what was making him so upset.

“Unfairly targeted Muggleborns.”

He swallowed harshly, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. Malfoy’s face was neutral, almost painfully blank. His lips were on the thin side, but they fit his face and were pleasant. The way he twisted them when answering the prosecutor’s question seemed to border on disrespectful, but maybe it was a trick of the light.

“I watched my father give her money. She said she would do everything in her power to target certain individuals using her powers as a Ministry employee.”

Hermione turned her head to look at the audience.

The look on Ron’s face was funny. He was red, but his eyes were wide and he was almost smiling. She supposed she understood. Out of Malfoy and Umbridge, Umbridge was undeniably the one she would rather see hang.

Malfoy’s testimony went on, and she zoned out, his deep voice soothing her. His answers were long and drawn out, and she let herself float, held aloft by his words. It was pleasant to be buoyed like this.

“Thank you, those are my questions.” The prosecutor nodded to Malfoy and then to the presiding member of the Wizengamot and sat.

Umbridge's defense barrister stood, holding a thick sheaf of paper.

“Mr. Malfoy, is it true you’re a Death Eater?”

Malfoy’s eye twitched, almost imperceptibly.

“Yes, I was marked as a Death Eater by the Dark Lord during the Summer before my Sixth Year.”

“And you tortured Muggles? Muggleborns? Other wizards and witches? I’ll remind you, you’re under oath.” The nasal voice of the defense barrister was unpleasant.

“Sir. I am under the compulsion of Veritaserum, so even if the oath were not binding, I still wouldn’t be able to lie on the stand. Yes, I did.”

Was it her imagination or had Malfoy glanced at her?

“And you did this, tortured people, willingly.”

It looked like Malfoy’s grip on the arms of the chair had tightened more, if possible. Hermione wondered if she was closer would she have been able to hear the wood creak?

“I wouldn’t say willingly. The Dark Lord was residing in my childhood home, effectively keeping both of my parents hostage. I would call that operating under duress. And I believe that you would too. Have you ever seen your mother tortured on the floor of your dining room and been expected to continue eating?” Malfoy’s voice was ice cold, his delivery biting.

“I wouldn’t—”

Malfoy’s lips twisted into a mocking smirk. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? Where were you during the war? I don’t remember reading about you in the details about the battle, the resistance. And you were a barrister. Did you take cases of any of the Muggleborns who had their wands snapped?”

The defense attorney stuttered, going red.

“So yes, I was a Marked Death Eater, but it wasn’t willing, and if you’d like to question my morals, you are by no means the first and I doubt you will be the last.” Malfoy’s disrespect was no longer subtle, and his upper lip pulled back into a sneer.

Hermione’s own lips twitched in response.

By the time Malfoy got off the stand, it was time for the trial to break for the night. She lingered in the courtroom as everyone filed out. She turned away from the central aisle, hoping no one would recognize her as they passed.

It hadn’t worked. Harry had caught her by the arm and asked her to come to the Leaky Cauldron with them to recap the day’s trial. She had shook her head, mumbling something about Crookshanks, which Harry had accepted with a grimace but not protest, Ginny pulling him away.

Apparently Harry hadn’t remembered that Crookshanks had never returned to her after the war.

So instead she stood when the room was empty but the bailiff and the barristers who were packing up the many rolls of scrolls that littered their tables. Umbridge had been escorted back to the holding cells.

She took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders back, and opened the doors to the hallway, prepared to leave in relative peace.

But then the gallery doors swung open and Malfoy stepped through them. He made a beeline for her.

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. She was sure she must have looked like a deer in headlights, eyes wide, frozen in place.

He stopped once he was close enough to reach out and grab her if he wanted to. She didn’t back down though.

His lips twitched and she held back the urge to wince.

Her facial expression must have given her discomfort away, because any trace of amusement slid off of his face, and his hands went up, palms forward in a placating gesture.

“I don’t want anything from you, Granger. Well, that’s actually a lie, there are a great number of things that I want from you, but I find myself having to play the long con, which is not something I’m used to. Plans that take more than an evening to execute are not my forte. It’s how I managed to bungle up my first task by the Dark Lord.” He was rambling.

Hermione didn’t hold back her flinch this time.

He may have testified against Umbridge just now, but he obviously was not remorseful if he could talk about being tasked with killing Professor Dumbledore so blithely.

Folding her arms over her chest, she narrowed her eyes and her mouth pressed into a thin line.

She wasn’t as fragile as she had been during their last run in, she hadn’t just seen pictures of—no, she wouldn’t think of those again, or of the hungry look on McNair’s face as he watched them.

“So Granger, did you enjoy the show? Was I suitably remorseful? You seemed to have a hard time keeping your eyes off of me. Do you think I hit all the right points? Do you have any notes on my performance? I thought I should have cried at some point. But at the time I thought that might have been a bit over the top. Afterall, the crying poor little rich boy doesn’t garner much support once the boy is over six feet tall.”

This had not been the direction she had anticipated their conversation taking. Her brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Well, you were paying such close attention to my testimony. I don’t think your gaze ever wavered from my face. I would have felt flattered if you hadn’t been looking straight through me like I was a ghost. Did my implicating Umbridge in multiple crimes not do it for you?”

He had stepped closer to her now, and she was forced to tilt her head up so that she could still look in his face.

She blinked once, and then again, but said nothing.

“I promise that I did my very best. Even the Weasel was pleased with my work. But your expression didn’t change. Were you even listening to me?” There was a note of annoyance in his deep voice.

Hermione tilted her head, riling him up through silence was much easier than snapping at him, like she had in school. So she stuck with her one word answers.

“No.”

“No, you weren’t listening?” Malfoy’s voice went high at the end, betraying his disbelief.

She was telling the truth though. She hadn’t really heard most of his testimony. But she had seen how the light glinted off the jet buttons of his obviously very expensive robes, and how his hair had grown out, and how there was just a hint of stubble on his jaw. She had seen how his body had shifted in indignation when Umbridge’s barrister had questioned him, and how he had been absolutely furious at points in the cross-examination.

“No.”

Draco let out a dramatic sigh. Her neck was starting to hurt from how she had to crane it to meet his gaze. So she sat down, forcing him to sit as well or loom over her awkwardly. He fell more than sat into a chair in the row in front of her, his too long limbs making awkward angles in the cramped aisle.

“Merlin Grager, what’s gotten into you? I’m still under the compulsion of Veritaserum, you could ask me literally anything and I’d be compelled to answer truthfully and you’re just giving me one word responses.”

Hermione tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. The expectations that everyone had of her were maddening. She supposed she knew where they came from though. The consummate overachiever was now not even floating through life, but more floundering.

She had declined Professor McGonagall’s offer to return to school. She had an offer elsewhere, but it was far away, and if she went she would be alone. Nowhere was hiring, not even the Ministry. There was nothing here for her.

“Potter said that you weren’t going back to Hogwarts. He was quite amazed. This was a few weeks ago when you were still abroad faffing about while we floundered here, trying to figure out what our government looked like now, what with so many people having colluded with Death Eaters and shown their loyalty to the Dark Lord.”

Hermione shifted back in her chair, uncrossing her arms and letting her hands fall in her lap.

“Harry?”

“Yes, Granger, you know, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and all that? He was convinced you were going to become an Auror along with Weasel and he at that point. Was bragging about all the Dark wizards and witches you lot would catch. Mentioned that several of my relatives would be the first in your crosshairs. That was before the Ministry announced it wasn’t hiring though. So no idea what he’s going to do now. Maybe get a deal to be the spokesman for Butterbeer.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She remembered getting that excited owl from Harry about how excited he was that she had turned down another year at Hogwarts. He had been convinced that it meant that they was going to join the Ministry. She had been forced to break it to him that she wanted nothing to do with the government that had declared her Undesirable Number 2 mere months ago.

If an organization could be so easily corrupted in such a brief period, then it must have been rotten to begin with. And Hermione wanted none of that.

Two days after she told Harry that she wouldn’t be joining the Ministry over her dead body, it had come out that the Ministry was broke and that it was not hiring for the foreseeable future.

Hermione hummed noncommittal, shrugging her shoulders.

“So what happened? Are you going to just settle down and start popping out red-headed terrors? I know the Weasel wanted in your pants for most of school.”

She laughed out loud, a sharp noise that startled her. She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed.

Catching her breath took a second.

“No, absolutely not.”

“Well that’s the longest answer you’ve given me yet.”

“Yes, well,” Hermione shrugged and then stood, dusting her hands on her skirt. She was done with this conversation, suddenly exhausted. All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and sleep. “Goodbye Malfoy.”

She took half a step away and Malfoy caught her by the wrist, halting her exit.

“I’ll see you soon, Granger,” he said, eyes intense on her face. There was something there that she couldn’t put her finger on, but it made her stomach tighten with an emotion that wasn’t fear.

She said nothing, just continued to look down at him. He brushed his thumb gently over the pulse point on the sensitive skin of the inside of her wrist.

Giving him a jerky nod, she didn’t pull away and let his touch burn into her until he let go.

She stayed for a second, just standing there. Then she turned on her heel and fled. Her quick steps took her out of the courtroom and to the apparition point before she could form a coherent thought about what had just happened.

* * *

True to his word, she saw Draco the next day.

She had dragged herself to the second day of Umbridge’s trial, sheerly because she had told Harry she would be there. But her reluctance to leave her bed in the morning meant that she was one of the last to arrive. Her normal seat in the back by the door was miraculously still open.

However Draco Malfoy was sitting in the chair next to it, a curious expression on his face.

She eyed the exit, contemplating making a run for it, but in that moment Harry turned around and smiled widely at her. She couldn’t leave.

So she bit the inside of her cheek and sat down next to Malfoy, positioning her body on the edge of the chair, as far away from him as she could manage.

It didn’t really help. She could still feel his body heat radiating from his tall frame. His limbs were too long to sit comfortably in the row, so his knees were angled towards her.

Purposefully she avoided his gaze, instead keeping her eyes on the witness box.

Unfortunately the next witness to be called was Umbridge herself. She had chosen to testify on her own behalf, as was her right.

But seeing her simper as she greeted her barrister still brought bile to Hermione’s mouth.

All Hermione could think of was how terrified she had been to break into the Ministry, how horrifying the Dementors in the courtroom had been. She remembered so clearly watching the Muggleborn be questioned about who she stole her magic from, thinking there but for the grace of God go I, something her mother had frequently said.

But it was fine, she could shake this off. Hermione curled her hands around the seat of her chair, securing herself in place.

The questions that Umbridge was getting from her barrister were softballs, designed to make the woman look sympathetic, like she had no idea what was really going on, like she only played a smaller role in a large machine and had no real knowledge about the outcome, that she was just following orders.

Umbridge’s cross examination was decidedly less gentle. The prosecutor went after her like a dog after a bone. Hermione appreciated the ferocity, the outrage. With each question Umbridge became more and more red in the face and her answers became higher and higher pitched.

It was impossible for Umbridge to lie thanks to the veritaserum, and so when she was forced to give answers she knew would get her in trouble, she became progressively angrier.

“And you didn’t like the people who you put on trial, the Muggleborns, did you? You never liked them.” The prosecutor was practically shouting at Umbridge.

Umbridge exploded.

“No, no, I hated the filthy Mudbloods!”

The word prickled across her skin, leaving puncture marks she could swear would bleed out.

The entire audience gasped. The collective inhale seemed to take all the air out of the room, and Hermione felt suddenly lightheaded. Her right hand went to her left forearm and she gripped it, her fingers so tight she was sure she would leave bruises.

She had heard the word since that night in Malfoy Manor. And she had looked at her scar practically every night as she got ready for bed. She had been fine, totally fine. But none of that mattered in that moment. Her breathing became shallow and rapid, her pulse sped and she could feel her heart in her throat. To hear that word in that feminine high pitched voice, it almost reminded her of—

Malfoy touched her shoulder gently. It was less of a touch, and more like him brushing his knuckles softly across her upper arm over her shoulder, stopping at the base of her neck, by her pulse point.

She leaned into the touch, against her will. She was holding herself so stiff that she was vibrating.

Malfoy’s hand drifted down, almost carelessly until it rested on top of hers. One by one, he pried each of her fingers off of her forearm. When she had let go, he slipped his hand under hers and put pressure over her scar, like he was trying to stem active bleeding. She let him. The weight of his grip kept her grounded and prevented her from slipping back into memories. She didn’t look at his face, and instead focused her attention somewhere in the middle of his chest, watching him breath in and out, trying to copy is rhythm in an attempt not to hyperventilate. It was hard though, because on every inhale it felt like there was something sharp and tight in her chest, tearing at her insides.

The heat from his hand bled through her sleeve. It was comforting.

Something else must have happened, because around them, the gallery began to empty, but Malfoy made no move to leave. People must be looking at them, she thought, slightly frantic. But she couldn’t tell because her vision had tunneled to focus on the buttons of his robes. They were pearl this time instead of jet.

She didn’t know how many minutes passed before her field of vision began to widen and she could finally take full deep breaths again.

Malfoy hadn’t moved though. Her eyes flicked up to his face. He was almost expressionless.

She went to pull back her arm, slowly, but his grip stayed firm and kept her in place.

“Why,” his voice shook and her eyebrows shot up in surprise to hear him so emotional. “Why are you here, why are you coming every day to these trials? Is it to torture yourself?”

Hermione shook her head mutely, eyes still on Draco’s face. He wasn’t looking at her face though, his eyes were glued to where his hand, long fingers and wide palm, rested on the sleeve of her shabby robe.

“I have to be here, it’s part of the deal I made with the Ministry. But you—you’re subjecting yourself to this—to this filth day in and day out. Why?”

Hermione blinked. “Harry asked me to.” Her tone tried to convey that the answer should have been obvious.

“Potter? You’re doing this because Potter asked you to?” He sounded incredulous. “If Potter asked you to jump off a bridge, would you.”

She could only give him a nonplussed look. “I have.” Her confusion was evident in her voice. 

She had given up everything for Harry. She had also done it to fight for her own future, but in the end it did always come down to Harry. “I offered to go with him, at the end, when he went to confront You-Know-Who.”

She’d never seen Draco look more shocked. Not when Moody had turned him into a ferret, not when she was being tortured on the floor of his home.

“What did he do for you? What has he ever done for you?” His tone was genuinely bewildered and he was shaking his head slowly as he spoke.

“He was my friend.” She kept her voice matter of fact.

“He let you—you nearly died.” Draco’s voice cracked at the end.

“Yes,” she nodded once. He was being very slow on the uptake.

“How are you real? How do you set yourself on fire day in and day out to keep someone warm who doesn’t see what you’re doing for him?” His grey eyes were glittering with intensity and his hand on her forearm tightened.

Hermione blinked once, and then again. “He’s my friend.”

“You’re it though, it’s you, it’s not him.”

She frowned, bewildered. “I don’t—I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

He leaned in and she caught a whiff of him, his expensive cologne and cigarettes, and she shut her eyes for a second to savor it.

“You were always the Dark Lord’s biggest sore spot. You were the Muggleborn who refused to be cowed, who refused to make herself smaller. You were brilliant, and unapologetically foreign. You beat me, and every single other pureblood, in school and you made it look easy. You were the biggest threat to the Dark Lord’s ideology. It was you. You’re the important one.”

His expression was feverish, his cheeks pink and his eyes rooting her in place with their passion, and he spoke like a man possessed. He leaned in so close that his forehead pressed against hers. She let him. The feeling of his skin against hers made a shock of electricity run up and down the length of her spine and she shivered in response. The tightness in her chest eased.

Her mouth opened and she prepared to say something in response, but words seemed to fail her.

Instead a sense of recklessness overtook her and she leaned in and kissed him. His mouth dropped open in shock and she almost pulled away, thinking it had been a mistake before he started to feverishly return the kiss. Their tongues tangled, and she let out a desperate noise that came from the back of her throat. He pulled away and pressed his forehead against hers again.

"I can help you forget," he said in a low, urgent whisper, "let me make you forget."

She didn't have to think about it. "Yes," she breathed out.

He took out his wand with his free hand and cast the strongest privacy charm Hermione had ever seen. A good thing too, because when he leaned back in to kiss her again, he moved his hand from her forearm to her breast, and her whimper was loud and obvious.

Dracos breath was hot against her mouth as he pulled away and panted.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, and she let lids slide shut. Now that she couldn't see him, she was hyper-aware of every place they touched, and how the warmth from his skin made goosebumps prickle across her arms.

He ran his hand under her robes, untucking her shirt from her skirt enough to touch the sensitive skin of her stomach and then gracefully go to her breasts, plucking at her nipples through the fabric of her unremarkable cotton bra. She leaned into the touch, eager for more, and he rewarded her with just that, shoving up the cups of her bra so he could touch the skin there.

"You're so soft," he said reverentially. His pinch on her right nipple forced a cut off gasp from her lips, so he did it again on the other side.

"Open your legs for me," she didn't question his command, rather she spread her knees as far as her practical pencil skirt would allow. He removed his hands from her breasts and pushed up her skirt even more until it was belted around her waist.

His clever fingers stroked over the gusset of her knickers. She was sure her slick had soaked through them, and that he could feel it, if not see it. He made a desperate groan and he stroked her through the fabric again and again.

Hermione hitched her hips so that he could have an easier time reaching and clenched her eyes shut, desperate for more.

Draco pressed a kiss into her temple. It was sweet, a direct contrast to the dirty things his fingers were doing to her core.

He slid his fingers under the elastic of her knickers and touched her bare slick sex for the first time. She moaned, and he bit out a curse. She was glad he was affected too.

"Focus on this, focus on my touch," he told her, circling his fingers over her clit, down to her entrance and back to her clit. "Focus on how my voice sounds, on how my fingers feel against you. All you have to do right now is feel, you don't have to think, you aren't responsible for anything other than feeling this pleasure."

Something sharp caught in her chest, and as he increased the speed and pressure of his fingers, talking all the while, a sob broke loose from her chest. Her orgasm crashed over her at the same second that she felt hot tears hit her cheeks. Draco let her ride out the rest of her orgasm on his fingers before he gathered her in his arms, peppering kissed down on her head, her shoulder, anywhere he could reach.

It took a second before she could make out what he was saying.

"You're such a good girl. You're so strong and amazing. You deserve the world. Thank you."

Hermione tuned him out until she could regain control of her breathing. Eventually her heartbeat calmed down and she let herself bask in the cage of his arms, leaning her head against his shoulder. She could feel he was hard, but he made no attempt to do anything about it and ignored it, so she did the same.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then examined her face with keen eye.

"Can I help you clean up?" His tone was gentle and coaxing. Hermione had the sneaking suspicion it was the same tone he would have used with a wild animal.

She nodded in the affirmative and he took out his wand again. With a few flicks and a muttered spell, she was set to rights, her clothes back in place and her face dry on tears.

Letting the silence linger for a moment, Hermione cast around for a subject that would cut through the tension that had built in the room. She pulled back so that she could look at his face.

“You have a plea deal?”

His lips quirked slightly and his pink tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. Hermione followed its path with her gaze. “Yes.”

“What are the conditions?”

He let out a long sigh, his shoulders drooping. He leaned back in his seat but still kept his hand on her forearm.

“I have to testify whenever they want. And I have to be here, physically for all the trials.”

“Why?” She asked.

“Part of it is that they’re hanging it over my head. They want me to see what’s happening to everyone else, so that they know that I know that they can get me in a second if I fuck up.” There was a note of bitterness in his voice.

“Is it working?”

Draco shrugged, glancing away from her and then back, his arms tightened around her, just a little. “I don’t need the reminder. I know.”

She was not sure exactly what that meant, but she was tired. She nodded, not looking him in the face. “Okay. WIll I see you at the next trial?”

He nodded, his gaze drinking her is as if he was in the desert dying of thirst, and she was an oasis. Like she was salvation.

“Goodnight.” She offered, brining her free hand up, she hesitated before bringing her hand up to his face, cupping the sharp line of his jaw in her palm.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His grip went slack on her wrist and she was able to pull away. She got to the apparition point with no hassle and she wondered if Draco was still sitting there.

* * *

The next trial didn’t start until a week and a half later.

It was the trial of Lucius Malfoy.

Ron was practically giddy as he walked with Hermione from the apparition point to the courtroom.

She had, unfortunately, arrived at the same time he did, and so was unable to avoid him and his good mood.

“This is going to be ace, Hermione. Lucius Malfoy’s finally going to get what’s coming for him. He’s been a Dark wanker for longer than we’ve been alive. He’s not going to worm his way out of this one.” There was a certainty in Ron’s voice that Hermione didn’t share.

Ron’s jubilance was off putting. He pulled her along, his meaty hand wrapped around her wrist. She let him, putting up no resistance. Why bother, she wasn’t going to be able to convince Ron that Lucius Malfoy didn’t deserve Azkaban, because he assuredly did. But Ron’s glee in the impending imprisonment of another just made her stomach twist unpleasantly.

Ron selected seats right up front, and Harry and Ginny sat down next to her, giving her no escape route.

“Oh Hermione!” Ginny leaned over Harry and patted Hermione’s knee with her freckled hand, “it’s so good that you’re sitting with us this time.”

There was a pinched look to Ginny, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well.

It took the bailiff reading out the charges against Mr. Malfoy for Hermione to realize why Ginny didn’t look well. One of the charges Lucius Malfoy faced was related to giving Ginny Riddle’s diary back in Second Year.

Of course Ginny didn’t look well, part of the trial was going to focus on her possession by a teenage Lord Voldemort.

Lucius Malfoy was brought in, and Hermione did a triple take. If the bailiff hadn’t announced “Lucius Abraxas Malfoy” as the figure in chains shambled into the courtroom, Hermione wouldn’t have recognized the man.

He was hunched over, his once bright platinum hair near dishwater blond. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone in the gallery, instead his head was down.

He looked pitiful.

At least he did until his eyes snapped to the gallery. His haughty, superior glare passed over every single person in the audience. There he was, there was the man who had held her at wand point in the Department of Mysteries. There was the man who had dispassionately watched her be tortured on the floor of his Manor.

He settled in at the defendant’s table with several barristers who looked like they were very expensive.

“Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, you are charged with being a Death Eater, the use of all three Unforgivable Curses, bribery, possession of a Dark Object, torture, and murder. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” Lucius’ voice was so hoarse it barely sounded human, but his glare was fierce and cold.

The opening statements sped by as Hermione glanced around the audience. She recognized the lithe figure of Narcissa Malfoy in the front row, right behind where Lucius Malfoy sat at the defendant’s table. She was holding herself stiff, but she looked like she had been worn away by the wind, weathered and brittle.

But Draco wasn’t there.

She tried to crane her neck around to see if he was seated where he had been last time. He wasn’t

The opening statements complete, the Chief Warlock called a break to the proceedings. Hermione used the opportunity to turn around in her seat.

“Who are you looking for?” Ron spoke quietly out of the corner of his mouth.

“Drac—Malfoy” Hermione said, distracted, still trying to scour the gallery.

“Ferret couldn’t even make his own father’s trial? What a coward.” Ron’s lip curled in distaste.

She made a small sound of protest in the back of her throat.

“Draco is testifying. That’s why he can’t be in the gallery right now” Harry leaned over Hermione and frowned at Ron.

Ron scoffed. “‘Course the bloody sod is testifying for dear old dad. Chip off the old block he is.”

Harry shook his head, a frown on his face. “No, Ron. He’s testifying against his father.”

“Against his father?” Ron’s voice was aghast and he rocked back in his seat as if he had been hit.

“Yeah, wasn’t even part of his deal, but he insisted on doing it.” Harry’s mouth twisted in a grimace

“Insisted?” Hermione couldn’t help but ask.

Harry shifted his gaze to Hermione. “Yeah, Robards was going to make him not testify against his dad, as long as he testified against all the other Death Eaters. But Draco demanded to also be allowed to testify against Lucius.”

“You’re calling him Draco now?” Ron’s outrage was palpable and the tips of his ears were red.

Harry shrugged and the corner of his ticked up in a half smile. “Yeah, I mean, he’s alright. We’ve talked after some of the trials. I’m not gonna marry him or anything, but he’s different.”

Ron was goggling at Harry like he had grown a second head. Ginny’s mouth was pulled tight into a tight grimace, nose wrinkling like she had smelled something unpleasant.

The bailiff called the courtroom to order.

The first witness that the prosecution called was Draco Malfoy.

He was dressed again in a bespoke set of robes, the Malfoy signet ring glinting on his pinky finger.

Lucius’s eyes followed Draco’s every move as he walked up the center aisle of the gallery to the witness stand. Draco did not look at his father. Not as he was sworn in, not as he took the veritaserum given by the bailiff.

Hermione drank in the sight of him. His voice was still soothing as it had been during his testimony against Umbridge. But this time she couldn’t tune out what he was saying.

“He beat me. He beat my mother. He was not a nice man.” Draco’s voice was flat and emotionless, but his eyes were hard.

“How long did he abuse you and your mother.” The prosecutor asked.

Draco’s mouth twisted into a grimace, but his response was bland. “He beat my mother as long as I could remember. He only started in on me once I was 11.”

“Did he ever give a reason?”

“He never needed an excuse.” Draco raised his chin and made his expression blank again. “He enjoyed the violence. He would beat my mother for any slight perceived disrespect. For not coming to breakfast, for coming down to dinner too early, for breathing too loudly. But my first beating was when I came in second in my class.”

“That seems like quite an accomplishment, why did he abuse you for that?” The prosecutor’s voice was tinged with professional concern.

“Because the first in my class was a Muggleborn.” Draco’s gaze raked over the gallery and halted on her. Her breath caught in her chest.

“Why did he say that mattered to him?”

He broke eye contact with her. “Because he told me that Muggleborns were not worthy of magic, that they were below us, and that it was our responsibility to show them that they were dirt.” His tone was tinged with disgust.

The prosecutor changed topics. Draco remained stoic. His answers, unlike those he had given at Umbridge’s trial, were succinct and to the point. There were none of his sarcastic flourishes. He didn’t look at Hermione again.

He never looked at his father either.

Then it was time for cross-examination.

One of the barristers stood from where he was sitting next to Lucius Malfoy. He was in robes that in Hermione’s opinion bordered on gaudy.

Draco’s shoulders moved up and down dramatically as if he had just sighed deeply, maybe in resignation, but Hermione couldn’t clearly read his expression from where she sat in the gallery.

“Mr. Malfoy. You were also a Death Eater, were you not?” The barrister was smug, and Hermione couldn’t help but scowl at him.

“I was, yes.” Draco’s voice was clipped.

The barrister took deliberate steps closer to the witness stand. “When did you receive your Mark?”

“I was Marked the summer between my Fifth and Sixth Years at Hogwarts. It was in July, I was 16.” Draco glanced again across the audience. Hermione wondered if he was looking for her face in the crowd.

“And where was your father when you were Marked?”

“Azkaban.” These were the shortest answers Draco had given yet.

“But you still got the Mark, though your father was not there to force you to?” The barrister turned toward the gallery and arched an eyebrow, as if inviting the gallery to speculate on the reason why Draco might have willingly taken the Mark.

Draco pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. “The Dark Lord was using my childhood home as a base of operations. He was holding my mother hostage. I would say that I was forced to be Marked.” His sardonic delivery brought a titter from someone in the gallery, but Hermione didn’t look around to see who had laughed.

“And you are testifying today under a plea agreement with the Ministry, are you not?”

“I am.”

“And you are receiving a reduced sentence in exchange for your testimony today.”

“I am.” Draco sounded bored at this point.

“So is this not just your way to avoid responsibility for your actions during the war?”

“I am still facing responsibility for my actions. I still expect to receive a prison sentence. And it was my choice to testify today, I was not required to as a condition of my plea agreement.”

Lucius’ barrister seized onto that response and switched tracks in his questioning.

“Yes, that’s right, isn’t it? So is this your revenge on your father for what you claim was his poor parenting skills? Your way to ensure your father suffers?”

Draco leaned forward, eye bright and locked onto Lucius for the first time since he had taken the stand.

“I think breaking my arm in three places by throwing me down the grand staircase goes beyond _poor parenting skills_ , do you not? If I really wanted revenge I would have killed him during the Battle of Hogwarts. He didn’t have a wand and was trying to find me to force me to remain loyal to the Dark Lord. I had a wand. I could’ve killed him then. But I didn’t. This is me ensuring that I can look at myself in the mirror in the morning. This is me ensuring that I salvage at least some measure of dignity after my atrocious actions throughout the war and my entire life.”

* * *

Hermione shook off Ron, Harry and Ginny at the end of the day for testimony. There was still at least another day of the trial, but after Draco’s testimony it was clear what direction the verdict was going to go in.

This time she sought Draco out, not waiting to see if he would find her.

Using a _Point Me_ spell, she discovered him sitting on a bench down what looked like an abandoned hallway.

He was hunched over, his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low. His blond hair obscured his face from her view.

Her fingers itched to straighten it, to run across his jaw again.

She thought that she would feel awkward around him after he had fingered her to orgasm in the courtoom gallery. But she didn't.

“Granger,” his voice was hoarse, sounding surprisingly like his fathers had just a few hours ago, but he stayed still, not looking up.

“Before you say anything, let me—” he broke off and sighed heavily. He still was slumped over, avoiding her gaze. “I suppose I should say this now, before—well, I should say it now. I should have said it before, years ago. I’m sorry I am so desperately and completely sorry.”

She settled down on the bench next to him. Not so close as to touch him, but close enough so that the edge of his robes brushed hers. He leaned back, his eyes closed. His shoulders slumped and he folded in on himself, grasping his left forearm tightly with his right hand.

“What for?” She angled her body to face him, her knees angled towards him.

“Merlin, Hermione. I’m sorry for calling you a—” his hand visibly tightened on his forearm and she wasn’t sure if he even recognized he was doing it, “—that word. I’m sorry for treating you terribly during school. I’m sorry for teasing you. I’m sorry for wishing you dead. I’m sorry for putting you in danger. I’m sorry for everything I did during 6th year. I’m sorry for not being brave. I’m sorry for not doing anything when you were on my drawing room floor—”

She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see it, and interrupted him. “Okay. I get it. You’re sorry.”

He nodded heavily, letting out a shaky breath.

“I am,” he said in nearly a whisper.

The intensity in his voice was staggering, and Hermione felt it echo through her body, bouncing around her ribcage before settling somewhere under her breastbone making it ache.

“I’m sorry too.” She offered up after a minute of silence.

“You—” he scoffed and shook his head. “—you have nothing to be sorry for. You did everything.”

She shifted on the bench, just a hair closer to him.

“I’m sorry you went through that alone. I’m sorry you suffered so much. You were a child. No child deserves that. No child deserves to be made a soldier.”

She reached over and placed her hand over his where he was still clutching his forearm.

They sat there, her fingers splayed across his knuckles, in silence. Hermione slowly began rubbing small circles into the back of his hand. It was something her mother had done to comfort her when she was a child. She had always found it soothing and reassuring. She hoped he thought it was too.

“Thank you.” It came out broken and Draco cleared his throat and tried again. “Thank you.”

Hermione nodded. Draco brought his free hand to her cheek and brushed his thumb gently under her eye. She felt the ridges of his fingerprint on the delicate skin.

“You haven’t been sleeping enough.” Concern laced through his low voice.

A manic giggle bubbled up from Hermione’s chest.

“All I’ve been doing is sleeping. I go to these trials, I go home, I sleep, I wake up, I come back here. A lot of sleeping.”

He frowned at her, she wanted to smooth the furrow in his brow. She tried to offer him a reassuring smile, but he didn’t look reassured, he looked worried still.

“Let me walk you home?” It almost sounded like he was begging.

Hermione turned slightly into his touch and nodded. It was for him, she told herself. His day had been beyond rough, and this cost her nothing. If she could be a comfort to him, she would.

He stood and offered her his hand. She took it and his touch was electric. She knit their finger together and his eyebrows raised in surprise before he made his face almost painfully blank.

Hermione supposed that preparing to walk through the Ministry was of course going to be a trial for someone who had just testified against their father.

They walked to the apparition point in silence. It was a nice silence though, not one of the awkward ones she had gotten used to when she would spend time with Harry or Ron.

His thumb rubbed those same reassuring circles into the back of her hand while they avoided others on their way to the designated apparition point. Draco was better at dodging reporters than she was. He would have to teach her his ways.

They reached the apparition point and he gestured silently for her to take the lead with a nod. She held his hand a little tighter and she Side-Along apparated him to in front of her parent’s house.

He didn’t let her hand go as they walked up to the front door and paused in front of the front door. She leaned in. He still smelled like money and cigarettes and Hermione savored it for a minute, taking a step closer to Draco so that their toes lined up. She glanced down. His perfectly polished dragonhide boots contrasted with her beat up pumps she had bought five years ago.

He pulled out his wand with his free hand and cast a privacy charm around them.

“Thank you.” He wasn’t looking at her, but didn’t let go of her hand.

“You’re welcome.” She squeezed his hand and smiled at him. He blushed and her smile widened in response.

“I very much want to kiss you right now.” His voice was gruff, and he looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

She tilted her head slightly. “Why don’t you?”

Draco let out a loud exhale, as if he had been holding his breath the whole time they were together. “I don’t want you to think that I’m only doing this because you were kind to me on an admittedly terrible day. Or because your vulnerability is attractive or desirable. This isn’t borne from desperation either. I first realized I had a crush in you when you slapped me. I thought that you would hate me forever. And all I want is for you not to realize what a catastrophic mistake it is for you to be kind to me. It was different the last time when you let me touch you, and I don't—” He was rambling

Hermione cut him off with a scoff of disbelief.

“I know what sort of man you are, Draco Malfoy.” She went up on her toes and pressed a kiss into the corner of his mouth before drawing away, leaving him with a shocked look on his face.

She knew that if she invited him in, like she was sorely tempted to in that moment, that it would go poorly. They were both walking open wounds, raw and messy and bloody. If they leaned too heavily on each other now, they would be building their relationship on shared pain. Their union would always be tinged with something dark. And both of them deserved better than that. Especially if he had been truthful about having had feelings for her for so long.

She also didn’t want to fuck this up.

“Thank you for walking me home.” She smiled up at him, gave his hand one last squeeze and let go.

She turned and opened her door, leaving him looking shocked on her stoop.

* * *

The next time Hermione saw Draco was at the Leaky Caldron, six months later.

She slid into a booth in the back corner away from all the traffic.

“Fancy seeing you here, Granger.” He smirked at her, cocksure and suave. And once again, for better or for worse, the sound of that voice is enough to fell her. It was deep and something in her chest jumped at the sound of it.

She smiled back at him, folding her hands in front of her so he wouldn’t see that she was shaking just a little.

“You were the one who suggested somewhere public.” She said, raising an eyebrow at him challengingly.

“Well you ran off the last time I was at your house. I didn’t want a repeat.” His tone was gently teasing and he reached across the table and placed his hand on her folded ones. She let him hold her hand and squeezed it in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I didn’t run off. You know that. I decided to take the offer from Salem Witches' Institute to study there. I literally owled you about it as soon as you left.”

Her almost kiss with Draco, not being whole enough to accept him into her life fully, that’s what had finally prompted her to make a drastic change. She had also owled Harry and Ron about it, but they had been much less supportive, much less understanding than Draco had been.

They had responded to her, Ron more resigned and disappointed, Harry still disappointed with just a hint of guilt, but understanding. SHe hadn’t let Harry change her mind though. What kept her strong was remembering Draco tell her that she was _it._

She had also sent a letter to Draco.

She hadn’t wanted him to think that she was leaving because of him, or anything he did.

His response had been less than an hour after she sent her letter, in fact she had still been packing.

He hadn’t tried to persuade her to stay, he hadn’t guilted her. He had given her the names of his contacts who she could call if she got in trouble, old family friends who were old money but not crazy blood purists.

They had exchanged letter every day since she left.

And with each letter she had realized she was in love with Draco Malfoy.

“You look better,” she noted peering at him from under her lashes. His cheeks were no longer so hollow, and he didn’t have the hunted look in his eyes.

“You do too,” he brought his free hand up to her face and cupped her cheek, tilting her face this way and that. “This time away has done you good. Your curls are bouncy again. And no more dark circles.”

She turned her head so she could nuzzle into his palm and press a kiss there. She was shocked on some level by their easy intimacy. But she supposed that’s what happens when you write every day for six months.

“My curls weren’t bouncy before?” A small smile was tucked into the corners of her mouth.

His mouth twisted and he looked chagrined. “They were...flatter during the trials. Not the wild lively mess that you had, that you have again.”

Draco changed the subject. “When you said you were going to be in town, I thought that your first stop would be 12 Grimmauld Place. Don’t you know how much shit Potter has given me, that you’ve chosen me as your pen pal over him?” he said. He left his hand on her face and she made no move to pull away.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Harry would have been a terrible pen pal. Do you know how bad he is at returning owls? Besides, he wouldn’t have discussed the interaction of Fermi’s discoveries about nuclear science with Potion brewing techniques.”

“That’s only because my mandatory Muggle Studies course required me to read about World War II. I knew you were a swot Granger, but that exchange really took it to new levels.”

“You knew what you were getting into Malfoy,” she shot back, a wide smile on her face.

“So what are you doing here? Potter and his bride-to-be aren’t tying the knot for another month.”

She leaned back slightly to take him all in, but not far enough so he dropped his hand from her cheek. “Well, in his owl announcing his nuptials, Harry mentioned that your terms of probation were being eased, and that you would be able to travel in a week.”

Draco arched an aristocratic eyebrow. Merlin, she wished he would teach her how to do that.

“He told you this. That’s against the rules, naughty boy.” There was a guarded edge to his voice now and her heart twisted. She hadn’t wanted to endanger the odd but genuine friendship that seemed to have blossomed between Harry and Draco. She had used a small guilt trip on Harry for the information. After all, she had gone to war for him, the least he could do was keep her informed about the terms of her maybe-boyfriend’s probation.

“Yes, he did. Don’t be cross at him, you should be thanking him in fact. He’s an exceptional wingman. After he told me that I booked an international portkey from Boston to London the same day.”

He used his hand to tilt her face up so that she was looking him dead in the eyes. “Why would that be?” There was something in his voice, a thread of hope maybe, but she could have been imagining it.

She took a deep breath to steal herself. “Because I wanted to convince you to come to America with me.”

His jaw dropped open and his eyes flicked back and forth between hers.

“I—you—America?” He sounded shocked, but she couldn’t tell if it was good shock or bad shock. Exchanging so many letters had helped her get to know his mind better, but his physical expression remained a mystery to her still.

“Yes Draco. MACUSA has a research position open that you’d be a shoe-in for. Or if you don’t want to do that, Ilvermony is in search of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Or if you don’t want to do that, there are any number of masters and researchers who would gladly hire you in a second.”

“Why?” She supposed she deserved being on the receiving end of one word answers, considering how many she had given him during the trials, but she still found it frustrating

“Because,” she tilted her head to kiss his palm again, her lips warmed by his skin, “you deserve a fresh start too. Because I think you could be happy there. Because I want you with me.”

Making herself vulnerable like this was deeply uncomfortable, but the pure joy that filtered across Draco’s face made it worth it.

Draco surged across the table and pulled her face towards him. His hiss was fierce and intense. It reminded her of the look in his eye when he had told her that _she was it_ , burning and passionate. He nipped at her lower lip and a soft moan escaped her. She opened her mouth and let him in. He took full advantage.

A chair scraped across the floor near them and they both jumped back. Hermione was gratified to see that Draco was just as out of breath as she was, and there was a delightful flush across his cheeks and down his neck.

“I’d like to leave here,” Hermione said, her eyes not leaving his.

“My flat?” He asked. His eyes were going to her lips again and again.

She nodded and stood, pulling him up with her. He threw some galleons on the table and they made a swift exit, apparating almost as soon as they left the pub.

He side alonged her right inside his flat. She knew he no longer lived in the Manor, and had made sure it was burned to the ground after his mother had moved to Paris.

It was sparsely decorated, but not how her parents house had been sparsely decorated because she had been too depressed to buy furniture. It was sparsely furnished in a thoughtful minimalistic type way. All hard surfaces and white marble.

She spun towards him and went on her tiptoes to catch him in another kiss.

“You never said if you wanted to come to the States with me,” she murmured against his lips between kisses.

He wound his hand through her hair and pulled slightly, enough to move her head slightly back. “Yes, you daft woman, of course I do.”

The bite of it, just hard enough to get her attention, made her toes curl in her sensible flats.

A wide grin broke across her face, and he answered with his own.

She wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him in against her.

“Good.” She said, kissing the center of his chest. “I had a whole essay on why you should, had you proven resistant.”

“Of course you did.” He used his hand in her hair to bring her into another passionate kiss.

Her hands around his waist began to explore the muscles of his back, and his free hand went to her waist. She had forgone robes that day, so he took advantage and rucked up her shirt so that he could stoke her bare skin. His touch burned into her and she felt like she might spontaneously combust.

Draco must have decided that he had enough of standing in his entry way, because in a swift move, he let go of her hair and swept her up into his arms. She let out an undignified squeak of surprise and he carried her to his living room. He sat down on his ultra modern looking couch that Hermione was sure must be uncomfortable, but she couldn’t really tell because he kept her in his lap.

She adjusted so that her legs bracketed his and they were nose to nose again. Her new position did give her a favorable position though, one which she took full advantage of as she ground her core into his already hard length.

He made a noise, somewhere between a groan and a sharp exhale, and she bit down on her lip, expression mischievous and did it again. This time she got her angle right and made sure that she was also putting pressure on her clit as she circled her hips on his again.

“You minx,” Draco growled and reached for the hem of her top. His fingers hesitated for a second and brushed the hem as if to ask permission. She took the initiative and yanked it over her head. The awestruck expression on his face was worth it.

Both his hands went from her hips to her breasts as he massaged and caressed them through the lace of her bra.

“Did you know that I’ve thought about you like this for nearly half a decade now.” There was amazement in his voice, and it made something soft take up residence in her chest.

She reached behind her to the hook of her bra and unclasped it. She shrugged her shoulders so that the material fell from her shoulders and into his hands.

Draco immediately pinched her nipples with just the right amount of pressure and she arched into him, whimpering her approval.

“More,” her voice was breathier than she anticipated, but she couldn’t bring herself to be embarrassed about it, not when he was looking at her like that.

He pinched harder and the noise she made this time was louder.

“I’m going to vanish your trousers and knickers,” Draco’s low voice made her core clench involuntarily. “And then I’m going to eat you out until you’re screaming my name.”

Hermione nodded vigorously, only stopping when he leaned in to kiss her.

Draco reached into his back pocket, only letting go of her breasts reluctantly. With a flick of his wand he did as she promised and she was entirely bared to him.

The feeling of his expensive trousers against her the apex of her thighs where she was already slick with excitement was delicious. She used the opportunity to grind down on him again.

Draco tsked at her with a wink. “Now Hermione, I told you what was about to happen, now be a good girl and let me make you come.”

He lifted her off his lap almost effortlessly and placed her down next to him. Without a word she slid down off of the couch and to his knees. He positioned himself between her splayed leg. He pulled her butt closer to the edge of the couch and wrapped his arms around her thighs, keeping them spread and anchored in place.

His look at her from between her thighs, so close to her aching cunt, made her heart start to pound.

“You’re going to be a good girl and stay still, aren’t you?”

Who knew that Draco Malfoy had such a filthy mouth, and with his voice, wow, she thought as she babbled something out in the affirmative. He barely waited for her answer and licked a striped down her.

As with everything, Draco was skilled and precise. His tongue flicking between her clit and her entrance. She arched, and let out a little sob of pleasure when he fasted his mouth around her clit. He maneuvered a hand so that he could slide two fingers into her, making a come hither gesture. The sound of his fingers inside of her, of his wet mouth licking into her. It was overwhelming.

He was patient, not rushing his movements, and she felt tension building up in her lower back and abdomen. Her legs and arms tensed and then began to shake. Draco knew enough not to stop, keeping the speed and intensity constant as she pulsed around his fingers. True to his promise, he did make her scream.

He pulled back and she saw her slick on his mouth and chin. He grinned rakishly at her, and she brought both hand to her face, pressing the backs of her hands to her cheeks in an attempt to stem the blush she was sure was bright red and obvious.

He leaned down to press a kiss on the inside of her thigh.

“I think we still have more research to do, don’t you Hermione?” His voice was thick with lust and she shuddered in response.

“Absolutely, especially if you keep talking to me like that.”

He laughed, a joyous sound that came from deep in his chest and resonated in hers. Scooping her up into his arms, he stood and carried her to his bedroom, slamming the door closed behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to just be pwp. But it ended up being much more angsty than porny. I hope you enjoyed it though.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I'd love to hear what you thought!
> 
> * * *
> 
> 💋 This work is part of the Taste of Smut Fest, a Harry Potter-centered fest dedicated to the five senses: taste, touch, smell, hearing, and sight. 
> 
> If you’ve enjoyed this work, please do shower our content creators with kudos and comments! 💌
> 
> [Please check out the fest's tumblr for more posts and updates](https://tasteofsmut.tumblr.com/)


End file.
